Painted
by Ismira Daugene
Summary: Sherlock, John, and the Yard get together for a paintball game. Serious shit goes down...


"I knew he wouldn't do it. Don't know why you wanted to invite him," Sally Donovan commented acerbically with arms crossed standing behind Greg Lestrade.

"I don't see why I should subject myself to your team's idiocy any longer than I have to, Lestrade," Sherlock replied, ignoring Sally.

"Oh come on, Sherlock!" Lestrade grinned. "Think of it as a way to get back at them for all they've said."

"He won't do it! I'll bet he's not even that good!" Sally snorted turning away from the group and towards the counter where the coffee pot was.

"We could do four on four," Greg continued.

"Four? Does the freak even know that many people?" Sally asked incredulously, her hands now cupping a mug of black coffee.

"Sure," Greg shrugged. "You, Clarke, Hopkins, and Gregson will be one team. Me, John, Sherlock, and one of John's army buddies will be the other."

"John doesn't want to participate in some pseudo game of war," Sherlock grumbled.

"Actually," John stepped into the conversation for the first time. "It might be fun."

Sherlock gave a are-you-serious look before throwing up his hands and rolling his eyes. "Fine! But you owe me a box of cold cases afterwards, Lestrade."

"Deal!" Greg grinned. And that was how John and Sherlock were signed up to play a game of paintball with the Yarders.

* * *

It was the day of the paintball game and John's old army buddy, James Barnes, had called to say (in a very hoarse voice) that he was too sick to go. "Great! Now we're down a team member!" Sherlock growled.

John cocked an eyebrow as he slid his mobile back in his pocket. "If I remember, it was you who didn't want to do this in the first place."

"Yes, but we already said we'd go and if we pull out now we'll never hear the end if it," Sherlock pouted as he flopped down on the couch.

John had to agree with that. They couldn't possibly back out now, but who could take Barnes' spot? "Yoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs.

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson," John called out, one hand massaging the back of his neck as he tried to think of another army buddy who was back from Afghanistan or even an old Rugby mate.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear," she apologized.

"I'm sure you couldn't," Sherlock mumbled.

John shot him a look before turning back to their landlady. "What is it, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well, I just overheard that your friend had to back out of your game today," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah," John sighed. "Not sure who we're going to get to replace him."

"If you really need a forth, I'm sure I could help out," Mrs. Hudson replied calmly. John frowned a bit and stopped his pacing as he looked up at her. "I'm not quite as nimble as I used to be…"

"Er, no offence, Mrs. Hudson, but I'm not sure this is the kind of game you'd be interested in," John tried to explain.

"Don't be silly, John," she waved a hand at him. "I'd be happy to step in!"

John glanced down to Sherlock still slouched on the sofa. Sherlock shrugged, but didn't show any other signs of acquiescence or dismissal. "Er, okay, but let us know if it gets too much for you," John signed, resigning himself to covering not only Sherlock's arse, but now their landlady's as well.

When they finally arrived at the arena, Sally's team was already decked out in protective gear and had their guns loaded with bright apple red paintballs. When she saw Mrs. Hudson with them, her face scrunched up in confusion before relaxing into a laugh. "Is this your forth? Good god, Lestrade, I almost feel sorry for you!"

Greg grimaced, but didn't acknowledge Sally's remarks. "Are you sure she's going to be okay for this?" he asked John quietly.

John shrugged. "She insisted she'd be fine."

Greg looked like he didn't quite believe it, but didn't question further as his team paid and went to get geared up. They would be sharing the arena with three other teams of four people that day since it was the weekend and would be too costly to rent it out just for their little battle.

So it was that twenty-five minutes later, John's team stood ready to enter the arena. Their gear was strapped on tight, but still allowed movement, and their guns were loaded with robin's egg blue paintballs. "Right," he said turning to face the three other members of his team. "Greg, you're gonna be our lead man. I'll cover you from behind. Sherlock, I want you to cover Mrs. Hudson and both of you find somewhere you can hole up. Shoot anyone you can, but don't waste ammo. And for heaven's sake, don't hit me or Lestrade!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. Mrs. Hudson stood calmly with her gun shouldered. "Right, lets just get this done," Greg muttered as the starting alarm beeped.

John and Greg rushed out first while Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock cut right. John lost sight of them, but didn't worry too much. He knew Sherlock would watch out for their landlady. Shouts and yells filled the air shortly, as well as the soft splatter of paintballs hitting things. John and Greg made an excellent team and soon had hit nearly eight people, cutting out two whole teams worth. But they had yet to see any of the other yarders.

Dodging behind a low bush, Greg peeked out over the top. "Shit! There's like six of 'em out there."

"They grouped together to take us out," John growled. He supposed all was fair in love and war, but he'd be damned if he was going down without a fight!

"John!" Greg shouted. "Seven o'clock!"

John whipped his gun around and fired twice. Each paintball zipped through the air and hit their targets, leaving large splatters of blue on the men who had tried to sneak up on them. Greg in the meanwhile had taken down another person at their two o'clock. "Shit! I'm running low on ammo!" John grumbled.

"Well we better figure something out because there's five more out there coming for us, and one of 'em is Sally. I just saw her duck behind a bush," Greg reported before ducking down beside John.

John let out a sigh before turning to Greg. "One last charge?"

Greg grimaced, but nodded. "Let's do it."

"3, 2, 1… CHARGE!" John and Greg both let out war charges as they leapt from behind the bush, guns at the ready.

Paintballs flew past them as they dodged and weaved, yelling all the while. The yarders and those they'd allied with emerged from their hiding places as everyone realized this was the final confrontation. John fired the last of his paintballs while Greg covered his six. They were finished though. There was no way to take them all down and they were about to surrender when a blue paintball zipped from out of nowhere hitting Gregson square in the chest above his heart. Everyone paused in surprise.

In the silence, another blue paintball splattered across one of the ally's helmets. "TAKE COVER!" Sally shouted as blue paint hit the tree centimeters from her head. John and Greg looked around wildly, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. "It has to be Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed.

"But where is he?" John asked.

Blue paintballs flew from multiple directions, hitting everyone in their path except John and Greg who were safe in the eye of the blue paintball hurricane. Clarke and the last ally were cut down as they dodged from behind a tree. Sally was one of the last to fall, but she did so with grace, firing her apple red paintballs until her back hit the ground.

When the frenzy was over, John and Greg stood in the middle of a blue smeared mess. Sally and her team were slowly picking themselves up and grumbling about snipers. "Sherlock?" John called out.

"Over here, John," Sherlock's baritone called as the tall man stepped from behind a tree.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" Greg asked as they moved to rendezvous with their teammate.

"Up here, boys!" a familiar voice called out.

John and Greg whipped around. It took a minute, but eventually they spotted Mrs. Hudson's camouflaged figure sitting three and a half meters off the ground in the crook of a tree. "Mrs. Hudson!" John's voice was slightly higher than normal.

"I do believe a thank you is in order," Sherlock grinned as he marched over to help his landlady out of the tree. Though the elderly lady was doing just fine as she nimbly scurried down by herself.

John grinned then as his flatmate and landlady came to a stop in front of him. He pulled Mrs. Hudson into a tight hug, laughing. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that, Mrs. Hudson?"

The landlady simply smiled and shook her head. "You never asked, dear."

With that, the four shouldered their guns and headed for the locker room, not a single splatter of paint on any of them.

* * *

Author's Note: Hey everyone! It's been probably about forever since I uploaded a story. I was inspired by a post on bbcsherlockheadcanon's tumblr that said: "Sherlock, John, and the Yard once got together for a paintball game. John had everyone out in under 10 minutes."

As you can see, I modified it a bit, but BAMF Mrs. Hudson is BAMF! lol... Hope you liked!


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